bygone days
by iuree
Summary: Let it be known that Isa does not like Terra.


**I.**

Let it be known that Isa does not like Terra.

No matter what the others tell him, he still keeps diligent watch over the other man. After all, old habits die hard and his go-to method of keeping an eye on Xemnas for the past decade was to walk beside him, being at his every beck and call with a clipped "yes, sir" on his lips.

Loitering around Xemnas wouldn't be any more unnerving than the past decade of his life had been; he had years to grow accustomed to the Superior's mannerisms and thought processes. He knows Xemnas like the back of his hand, he fought tooth and nail to get as close to him as possible to uncover his true motives for the Organization.

And Terra, in all his physical similarity, is nothing like Xemnas and that is what set Isa on edge the most.

 **II.**

Terra wasn't sure what to make of him at first. That much was obvious.

Isa made his stance regarding him painfully clear, with venomous words and hostile posturing. Despite this, the idea of not being there to ensure he wasn't hiding another hydra head of Xehanort was preferable only to death. So instead he watches.

"Do you need anything?" he asks him for the fifth time that day as he tied his long, silver streaked hair back. Isa's glass green eyes followed each movement of his hands warily. He's not sure what he expects him to do when his hands are entangled in his own hair, but he wouldn't put it past Xemnas' vessel.

"No," he says curtly.

"Awesome, do you want to help me clear out this brush? I could use the extra hand."

Without thinking, Isa begins to say "yes, sir" and catches himself halfway through, to both of their relief. "If you need my assistance, I would be... happy to offer my help."

Terra frowns. "You don't have to."

"No. I said I'll help, so I will." The words were frigid, like a gust of winter had laid over the defunct Land of Departure.

Terra nods, smile painfully forced. "Alright, don't clear too much; we still have to haul everything out."

"Yes, sir."

 **III.**

Watching the gnarled roots and shrubbery burn is oddly cathartic. Both covered in grime and tiny scratches, Terra and Isa watches the fruit of their labor go up in flames without much of a word between them.

Dusk is setting in with only the last dying inklings of wine red in the sky as deep indigo swept across the eastern sky, leaving only the burning brush to light them.

"Do I remind you that much of him?" Terra finally asks without looking away from the blaze. He doesn't know what he'll see if he looks at Isa. He doesn't want to know.

Isa doesn't respond.

"Sometimes," he finally says.

 **IV.**

For all the time he spends around Terra, Isa remains silent as the grave he metaphorically crawled out of.

Despite everything he's been through, Terra's miraculously friendly and open. The other former members of the Organization seemed to warm up to him quickly enough; he proved himself to them as being an entirely different being than their Superior and they had little trouble adjusting to who he was as a person.

Of the twelve person jury of those who bore witness to all of Xemnas' actions, Isa is the sole member who can't bring himself to let go of the past.

So when Terra's making idle chitchat in a one-sided conversation with him, Isa rarely - if ever - responds. He can't talk.

What is there to say? To accuse an innocent man who suffered just as much as any of them of the crimes he failed to prevent? To blame him for his own inability to move on and recover?

They just watch each other with bated breath, waiting for the day it'll all click into place.

 **V.**

It's not a conventional friendship, not by any means. It's not even voluntary, it just... happens.

Isa still doesn't like Terra. He approaches it, sometimes, when he catches inklings of domesticity sneaking in on him. Time wears down most things, consistent kindness in the face of frigid silence only expedites the process.

His apprehension slowly, glacially melts away with each passing day, though each day does bring new challenge. Instead of welcoming the idea of looking at Terra and seeing someone else, Isa finds the idea of finding dull amber where blue should be repulsive, stomach churningly so. Terra asks him what's wrong. Isa shrugs. The world turns.

Not much has changed, he thinks. He just finally caught up.

 **VI.**

The dam breaks a short time later.

Harsh words exchanged, harsher words shouted, escalating into a crescendo of nothing but cold air punctuated with sharp breaths and sloppy punches.

It's an interesting reverse of the past; now his face is bleeding with Isa looming over him. It's not so totally one-sided; Isa's not entirely unscathed himself and bears harsh aches he's sure will blossom into deep blue bruises by the morning. He doesn't know how Xemnas must've felt in that moment - if he did at all - back then, but it couldn't be as awful as this.

The bottle broke, and he has no idea how to pick up the pieces. Isa finds himself on his knees, pulled into a hug he doesn't have the energy to reject, instead wrapping his arms tightly around Terra. It's not so bad, he supposes, it kinda feels nice. He feels what's either hot tears or drips of blood on his neck and it doesn't matter, not when Isa has his head nestled in the same spot between Terra's neck and shoulder with the same issue.

Isa lets himself cry for the first time in twelve years. So does Terra.

 **VII.**

Things changed, but they also didn't.

He doesn't stop loitering around Terra, though now the conversations are less one-sided and a bit closer to how the old Isa might've spoken. He doesn't linger too much on it. Terra smiles easier these days as well, more genuinely than before.

It's colder now, and Aqua had said she'd work on fixing the heating in the Land of Departure. It was fine if it slipped through the cracks for a while though, Isa was more comfortable with physical contact these days and Terra is just as good a heat source as anything. He'd worry he was overstepping if he hadn't noticed Terra's fingers threading through his hair as he dozed off, gently kneading through the long tresses.

He doesn't comment on it. There's really no need.


End file.
